Page 93 of Geordie

Lily

Iunlockthebackdoor of the restaurant, expecting to see my office in disarray, with bills piled high on my desk waiting to be reviewed. I take a step inside, look around, glance at my key, then decide to retrace my steps to make sure I'm in the right place.

“You haven't fallen down the rabbit hole, Lily, this is your office.” Harv is sitting at my desk dropping a piece of paper into an empty outbox. “You've been gone long enough that I had to make some changes, meaning I had to clean this office. I can't take all the credit; Tina helped me.”

Shrugging out of my coat, I place it on the hook near the door, marveling at the order; it's a miracle. “I don't blame you; I feel like a stranger, afraid the crew doesn't remember me.”

“Oh, we remember. Your name is bantered about nightly, especially when we have a packed house and we're shorthanded.” He swivels a little in his seat as I plop down in a chair in front of the desk. “I see you're down to a Band-Aid on that hand; have they cleared you to come back to work?”

“I am. That's why I'm here, so don't be hard on me when we're in the kitchen.”

He raises his hands as if to fend off any more requests. “I'll just put you through your paces. How's the pregnancy?”

“Wonderful, and I have the pictures to prove it.” I pull out an envelope from my pocket that contains the ultrasound photos from our visit and slide them across the desk. “Sorry, they're a few weeks old. I'll have new photos next week after my next checkup.”

Harv fans out the pictures, his grin taking over his face. “I can't wait to meet this little muppet; I’ll have him or her chef ready before they take their first step.”

“Easy, I need to get this kid into kindergarten before you ship your prodigy off to the Cordon Bleu.”

“Seriously, you look pale. Are you sure you're ready to come back to the kitchen?”

I shrug. “Looking pale, being tired, and being thirsty all the time seems to be part of the territory.” I slide my elbows onto the desk. “I need to get back to my real life. I can't spend my pregnancy in mothballs at Geordie's place. He didn't like that I moved back into my old apartment, but I was going mad without my stuff around me.”

“Are you sure that's wise? You know a lot of women would just love to put their feet up and eat bonbons all day while being pregnant.”

I toss my head back, laughing. It feels good to quip back and forth with Harv. I've missed his old-fashioned view of life. “You've been watching too many old movies; this isn't the ’60s. I think what you're really saying is that you don't want me back.”

His eyes soften, but there's a half-smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “Don't say that, Lily. You know you're like a daughter to me and I'll see that baby you're carrying as a grandchild.”

Harv is like my dad. I'll always be grateful that he's around and supportive. “Did you check on Wednesday?” I ask.

“I did. No mention of us on the Michelin site, and no letter either. Are you sure that our investment in a restaurant consultant was wise?”

Harv has never let me do whatever I've wanted in the business. We're partners because he's not afraid to challenge me. “These things take time,” I remind him. “Bookings are up, the cookbook brings in additional revenue, and more eyes are on us.”

Sounds from the kitchen increase as more of the crew begin prep. I can't believe how anxious I am to get back into a commercial kitchen. “I have some good news for Dalliance.”

He glances at the door, probably feeling the pull to be in the kitchen, wanting to be knee deep in the drama. “What's the news?” He swings his attention back to me. “Have they nominated you as person of the year, maybe a Pulitzer?”

“Better. KPIW in San Francisco has asked us to do a cooking spot once a week as part of their TV news program. They set aside time each day for a feel-good segment. They'd like to include cooking in the rotation.”

“You mean they want Chef Lily to do a cooking spot,” he corrects me.

I scoop up the ultrasound photos and stuff them back into my pocket. “We got this gig because of you. Apparently, the station manager remembers eating at the Trailer Park restaurant in the Tenderloin when you were the chef there. Someone on his staff suggested the weekly cooking spot, but he wasn't keen on the idea until he saw our cookbook with a photo of you and me on the back cover. If you don't agree, this isn't going to happen.”

He shifts in his seat, but I can tell he's flattered; that spark in his eyes is a tell. “I'll think about it,” he gruffs out.

“Think fast. They'd like us to come up at the end of the week to talk and, if you agree, to do a tryout. They want footage of us for promos. Look, the offer is on the table; you just need to agree. I talked to the assistant that the station assigned to this project. He whispered to me that the graphics department is already working on the announcement.”

He stands. “I won't be pushed into anything. I have to meet them.”

My phone rings. “Don't think this conversation is over,” I warn him. “You got saved by this call.”

He shakes his head. “Come to the kitchen when you're done with your call so I can see how much you've forgotten… and don't forget to wear a glove on that bandaged hand.”

The number that flashes across the screen is not one I recognize. I hit the answer button anyway, prepared to hang up on the person if they turn out to be a scammer. “Hello?”

“Lily, this is Eddie,” he says, his voice frantic. “Molly has been in labor since last night–”

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